In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “You’ll catch your death.”

  “I’ve been stuck in there for three days,” she replied. “I couldn’t bear it anymore.”

  He glanced down at her feet, which were bare. “Isn’t it a little chilly to be a wood nymph this morning?”

  She met his smiling eyes and recognized the power of his charm. It was no wonder he had so many eager lady friends. “You know I have no shoes.”

  “I have not forgotten. There are stockings and shoes for you in the coach.”

  She turned and watched as it slowly rumbled up the hill. Lord Alcester was very good at taking care of things, she realized. It was easy to rely on him.

  “Thank you.”

  She limped beside him while he led his horse to the trough.

  “I know this is unpleasant business, Miss Wilson,” he said, “but someone will be along to collect the body after we’re gone, and we’ll have to speak to the magistrate tonight. He’s given me his word that he’ll keep it quiet, and I trust him. Will you be able to discuss it?”

  “Of course.”

  “How is your wound, by the way?” he asked.

  A vision of his hands on her leg jolted her. She forcefully pushed the recollection away. “It feels a bit better this morning. It’s not so difficult to walk. But I didn’t sleep well.”

  His eyes were downcast as he watched his horse drink from the nearly overflowing trough. The wind blew a part in his thick, black hair and revealed dark brows against his sun-bronzed skin. If Adele were an artist, she would paint him as Michael, the warrior angel. She had seen a statue of Michael in Paris once, when she had spent time there with her sisters, learning to speak French. She never forgot it. She often dreamed about that statue.

  For some reason, she thought of Lord Alcester’s mistress at that moment, the famous actress. From what Sophia had said, the woman was very beautiful and liberal. She enjoyed taking lovers, and by all accounts, she was just the sort of woman Lord Alcester desired. Theirs was purportedly a passionate love affair.

  It was difficult for Adele to imagine any woman being so free, not worrying about duty or correct behavior. To even think about such a woman—to have any connection to her whatsoever—seemed strange for Adele, who had led an exceedingly sheltered and proper life. She didn’t know a single person who’d had a “lover” and spoken about it.

  “I also sent a wire to Harold,” he said, “to inform him that you’re safe and he can expect you in two days.”

  “I hope he’ll pass that message on to my mother,” Adele said. “She must be worried sick.”

  “From what I understand, your mother will be traveling by train to meet us. You and I will travel by coach and check into an inn this evening. We’ll tell everyone we encounter that you are my sister.” Lord Alcester tethered his horse to the post next to the trough. “And I am pleased to announce that you can anticipate a hearty dinner by a warm fire this evening.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Lord Alcester walked to the edge of the yard. “Here is the coach.”

  A moment later, it pulled up and Adele limped toward it. She climbed in, pleased by the interior of the vehicle with its soft blue upholstery. A box tied up with a ribbon sat there on the seat.

  Lord Alcester stood at the open door, his large frame casting a shadow as the sun came out from behind a cloud. “Shoes and stockings.”

  “Thank you.”

  While she gazed at his handsome face in the sunlight, she felt almost entranced. In an effort to distract herself, she peered out the window at his horse, still tethered by the trough. “You’re lucky you get to ride.”

  “Do you like to ride?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “Yes. I sold my hair when I was seven to keep my father from selling our pony when we couldn’t afford to keep her. I just couldn’t live without her, or without the freedom to explore the woods where we lived.”

  He lifted his chin, gesturing toward his own horse. “We have something in common. I’ve been leasing out my London house to keep him.”

  Adele’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Do you still have that pony you loved so much?” he asked.

  “No. She died when I was nine. I explored the woods on foot after that—until we moved to the city.”

  He hesitated at the door. “You’ll like Osulton Manor. It’s surrounded by forest, and the stable is stocked with thoroughbreds.”

  “Really? Harold didn’t mention that. I can’t wait to get there.”

  He nodded. “Signal if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Lord Alcester closed the door. She watched him from the window as he waved to the driver and strode toward his own horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and led the way out of the yard.

  The coach slowly turned around, and before Adele knew it, she was rocking back and forth on the seat as they made their way down the hill and back to real life. Though she wasn’t sure anything would ever be completely normal again.

  Osulton Manor

  “He found her! She’s safe and on her way home!”

  Eustacia waved the telegram over her head as she dashed into the brightly lit conservatory. Or rather, the brightly lit laboratory, as it had been cleared of plants a number of years ago and lovingly dedicated to the ambitious pursuit of chemical science.

  Harold lifted his gaze from the beaker of bubbling liquid that stood before him. His protective eyewear was covered in steam, so he pushed the large glasses off his face to rest on top of his curly, red hair. “I beg your pardon, Mother? Did you say she was safe?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you referring to Miss Wilson?” he asked.

  His mother skidded to a halt before him. “Of course I am, you silly, silly man! She’s safe! Damien found her!”

  Harold took the telegram from his mother and read it. “Well, that is indeed good news. I told you Damien was the right man for the job.”

  “Yes, you were right as always. He no doubt put that despicable kidnapper in his place and.... Well, let us not go into that. We know how Damien can put up a good fight. The point is, they’re on their way home! They’ll be here in two days.”

  “Two days. You don’t say.”

  “I do say, Harold. You’ll have to get a haircut.”

  “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

  “And we must plan a special dinner in Miss Wilson’s honor. She is the future Lady Osulton, after all. Would roast lamb do? Or do you think she would prefer beef? I believe Americans are beef eaters, are they not? You were there. You should know. Or perhaps they eat so much of it, it’s become a bore. Oh, Harold, what should it be?”

  Harold looked down at his beaker. The bubbles had disappeared. “I don’t know, Mother. You decide.” He slid his protective eyewear back down and leaned close. “What the devil happened?” he muttered to himself. “The bubbles were there a minute ago.”

  That evening at the inn, after Adele had bathed and spoken to the magistrate, she prepared for supper. She had to don the same homespun dress she’d been wearing for the past three days, but at least she felt clean.

  She left her bedchamber and went to the dining room. A movement to her left caught her eye, and she spotted Lord Alcester making his way across the room to greet her. He offered his arm. “Good evening, Miss Wilson. Our table is this way.”

  He had bathed, too, and shaved. His hair, still damp, was slicked back off his face. He looked.... Well, he looked....

  Different.

  He escorted her to a table in the far corner. It was covered with a white tablecloth and there was a vase of fresh daisies next to a decanter of wine. A candle burned in a small jar.

  Adele stared down at it. “I can’t begin to describe how good it feels to be among civilized people again, and to look at such a lovel
y table laid out with such care.” She gazed up at him. “I’ve been eating nothing but bread and turnip for the past three days.”

  He nodded with understanding, then moved behind her to pull out her chair. “Then it will be my pleasure, Miss Wilson, to provide you with what you’ve been missing. I’m happy to report that the food here is excellent.” He took his seat opposite her. “I took the liberty of ordering the wine. I hope you’ll join me in a toast.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  He poured her a glass, then lifted his own. “To life and marriage.”

  “To both.”

  Over the next hour, they discussed light topics—the artwork in the dining room, the population of the village and surrounding areas, the weather, of course, and the route they would take to reach Osulton Manor.

  Soon the food arrived, and they enjoyed their dinner while the pink hue of twilight streamed in through the lace-covered window and lent a relaxed, magical atmosphere to the room. Their conversation relaxed as well, as it drifted toward more personal topics.

  “So you know how Harold and I met,” Adele said, recalling her curiosity about this man the night before when she had watched him falling asleep. “Now tell me a little about yourself, Lord Alcester. You wear no wedding ring. How have you managed to avoid marriage for so long?”

  It was a bold question, she knew, but she didn’t feel quite herself. This was not her life, she supposed. It was “Adele on an Adventure.”

  “It’s been no small feat, I assure you,” he replied. “Both my aunt and my grandmother would like to see me attached as soon as possible, and they become more and more determined each year. I predict my aunt and your mother will get along famously. They’ll be kindred spirits, matchmaking to their heart’s delight.”

  Adele imagined what his life was like as an English nobleman, where a sense of duty was probably fed into his veins from infancy onward. “I suppose it’s your goal in life, isn’t it, to make a good marriage and produce heirs?”

  Good God. Produce heirs? She was feeling bold, not scandalous. Perhaps she’d had too much wine.

  “Yes, exactly. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I had best get to it. I’m not getting any younger.” With a wicked grin that made her squirm in her chair, he picked up the bottle and tipped it over her glass, but she firmly held up a hand.

  “No, thank you, I’ve probably had enough. Please feel free to finish it.”

  He didn’t argue. He poured the rest of the wine into his own glass and took another sip. He didn’t seem the least bit affected by it. Quite unlike her.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I adore my aunt and grandmother, and nothing would please me more than to make them happy, but I have yet to discover the one woman who makes me....” He paused. The candlelight flickered between them. “The one who makes me want to be a husband. I don’t want to marry just anyone and be miserable. That doesn’t do anyone any good.”

  “Well, happiness is indeed an important part of life to consider,” she said, feeling a great need to bring her fiancé into this conversation. “Harold, for instance, has made me indescribably happy on so many occasions.”

  “Has he indeed? In what way, may I ask? Perhaps I should consult him in matters of romance. It sounds as if he could provide some helpful advice.”

  Adele stared at the electrifying glimmer in the viscount’s eyes which almost seemed to challenge her. She noticed suddenly that they were both leaning forward with their elbows on the table. She sat back and couldn’t help reaching for her wine again.

  “I hardly think you need advice, my lord. I know about your reputation.” She surprised herself with that comment.

  “Do you, now? Where in the world would you hear such a thing? Does news like that reach America?”

  “My sister told me. She mentioned it in a letter when Harold was still in America.”

  “I see.” He took a deep swig of wine, then casually shrugged.

  “You’re not denying it,” Adele said, shocked in some ways, but not in others. Lord Alcester didn’t seem all that concerned with what was proper. He was like no one she’d ever met.

  “No, I am not denying it, because it’s all true. I am without a doubt the worst scoundrel in London. You had best keep your distance.”

  He smiled with riveting splendor, and boom, there it was in full force. The pounding allure that her sister had described, and she herself had witnessed on so many occasions leading up to this one. The sweet, seductive power that even Adele—inexperienced as she was with men—could recognize. The very qualities that made him notorious. A strangely pleasant, dizzying haze moved over her thoughts as she stared at him.

  The server came and took their plates away. As soon as she was gone, Adele became aware of her heart beating shockingly fast. An unfamiliar thrill was rippling through her veins and she didn’t like it.

  Feeling shaken by her body’s response to Lord Alcester, she thrust the haze away and forced her thoughts back to their earlier conversation. “Perhaps you’re right. You haven’t married because you simply haven’t met the right woman yet,” she said, struggling to recover her calm. “When you do, everything will seem effortless, and you will defy your reputation and find the happiness that you seek.”

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m not sure,” he said, his voice low and husky, “that I will ever be able to know true happiness, Miss Wilson, even if I encountered Venus herself.”

  She stared at him across the table, bewildered by this surprising declaration, and more than a little curious about his meaning. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  He said nothing for a moment, then he drummed his long fingers on the tabletop. “There is no good reason for me to think it, Miss Wilson.”

  The server appeared and asked if they wished to have dessert—almond cakes and cream.

  Lord Alcester leaned back in his chair. “That sounds rather delicious.”

  Adele held up a hand. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Tea? Coffee?”

  She shook her head and the server went away. Lord Alcester rested both hands on his thighs. “It seems our dinner has come to an end.”

  Though she couldn’t possibly eat any more, Adele had to confess, she didn’t want the night to end. She wanted to keep talking to him. Proper decorum, however—and the sensible, warning voice in her brain—required her to politely agree and take her leave.

  He helped her from her chair. “We’ll get an early start tomorrow,” he said, “and meet your mother by noon the following day if the weather holds. Is seven too early for you?”

  “Seven is fine. Thank you, my lord, for everything you’ve done.”

  His eyes were warm. The seduction was gone now. “It has been my pleasure, Miss Wilson.”

  She smiled one last time, then retired to her room.

  Damien lay in bed that night with his arms up under his head, staring at the ceiling and remembering the conversation he’d had with Harold less than a week ago...

  “I’ve never given you advice before, Damien. God knows it’s usually the other way around. I feel clumsy even thinking of it, but here it is: Your creditors have been getting more aggressive lately, and things seem to be coming to a head. Maybe it’s time you looked for a bride.”

  Damien had known that was coming. He’d been considering it himself. “A wealthy bride, you mean.”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult. Not for you, with all your appeal with the ladies. Certainly, if I could do it...”

  “You think I should go to America,” Damien said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But you know how I feel about marriage for profit.”

  Harold stiffened. “Unfortunately, it’s my duty as your closest confidante to try and convince you that not all arranged marriages end badly like your parents’ did. Some can turn out very well.
I’m sure mine will.”

  “I would prefer not to leave anything to chance,” Damien told him.

  Harold sank into a chair. “All that aside, I know how wretched your financial situation has become, and that’s perhaps the point of this conversation. There was another creditor here today....”

  Damien rolled over on the bed as the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. He reconsidered his cousin’s suggestion. If there were other women like Adele Wilson in America, perhaps Damien should consider it. It would solve a host of problems, to be sure. Money problems, for one.

  And after today, there were other problems, too. More than once that evening, Damien had found himself staring across the table at Adele and wanting her for himself. Not only was she beautiful, but she was virtuous and honorable as well. The perfect woman. Nothing like Damien’s own mother.

  He wondered selfishly how much Harold really wanted Adele. How disappointed would he be if he lost her? Was there a chance her father’s business interest in his experiments was what fueled their hasty engagement? Or had Harold, for the first time in his life, fallen in love? It was not unlikely, Damien thought, now that he had met Adele and seen for himself the full measure and depth of her beauty, both inside and out.

  Damien shook his head at himself. He should not even be pondering such questions. Harold’s happiness mattered to him deeply. Though perhaps at times, a little too deeply because he was extremely protective of Harold. Everyone said so.

  Regardless of his feelings of loyalty toward Harold, however, his thoughts darted back to Adele. He imagined her in her bed. He imagined going to check on her. What would happen if he did? Would he stay very long? Would she be glad to see him?

  He cupped his forehead in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “Bloody hell.”

  You should not have sent me, Harold. You should have sent someone else....